


The End of Winter

by Smol_Terrence



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bad Weather, Bucky has two arms, Gen, Horses, Not exactly memory loss, The Winter Soldier - Freeform, ranch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 01:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smol_Terrence/pseuds/Smol_Terrence
Summary: Bucky fell a third time in his life during a mysterious accident ; where he not only lost every memories of it, but of his whole life, too. After weeks of trying to revive his memory, he takes the offer to live, isolated from the world, in a ranch where he could find a sense of purpose again. But when Natasha and Steve get in contact with him again a year later, they might discover that Bucky is not the one they knew.





	The End of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> The artist who made the artwork can be found on Deviantart as [Echdhu](https://www.deviantart.com/echdhu).  
> (The Bucky has two arms tag references the fact that I forgot to mention he only had one arm and I couldn't find a correct way to put it. So he has two arms in this AU. Sorry.)

 

* * *

The first postcard arrived on January the 5th, and he thought “ _This is the first time I receive a pos_ _tcard in my life._ ”

It was a forgettable photography of San Francisco’s bridge, and behind, written in black ink swiftly, “ _Happy New Year, take care -Steve &Natasha” _ . It surprised him ; not only because he never received postcards, but also because they did not tried to contact him, after their first meeting a year ago. Well, _first_ , in his point of view at least. He put it on the fridge with a ladybug magnet which usually hangs around to stuck reminders on the fridge. Usually, stuff to restock for the horses or for the house, which doesn’t need to be done daily or weekly and thus always slip his mind.

He did not know how to respond ; after all, he wasn’t the Bucky they knew a year ago. He should probably sent a postcard back but, even if he knew what to write on it, they didn’t indicated any address.

His routine was disturbed again the next month when he received another postcard, on February the 13th. Still a photography, but of a different landscape. On the back, blue ink. “ _We hope you’re well. We heard the weather was bad near you. -Steve &Natasha _”. It was nice of them -and they even thought of adding their address at the bottom- but he still didn’t know how to answer.

He magnets the postcard next to the second one, trying to plan his own postcard to send back. He could go to the village tomorrow to buy one, with a nice picture of the surrounding landscapes ; but as his… friends mentioned, the weather hadn’t been the nicer for a winter’s end, and the road’s were muddy and the clouds threatening, and the horses had to be watched closely. The thought stayed in his mind all day as he went on with his routine. Feeding himself, feeding the horses, cleaning the place, evaluating the damage the last rain and strong winds had done to the fence today. It wasn’t much but he didn’t like seeing them falter. Fixing the fence, riding the horses to keep them active, letting them out, bringing them back in because the temperature wouldn’t allow him to let them sleep outside safely. Diner time, taking a shower, going to bed. Repeat for the month.

It was pleasant. Maybe even boring ; but he liked the presence of the animals. They were calm, gentle creatures for the most part. Some had their temperament but it only added to their charms. He liked caring for something, liked waking up knowing they’ll be there waiting for him, and that he could be useful for something good. Moreover, spring arrived slowly, and with it the weather cleared up, and the little flowers that covered higher lands started to open. There came the third postcard, on March the 4th.

The picture was a montage of four different photographies of New York, as written in bright red across them. This time, two different handwritings.

“ _Happy Birthday in advance -Steve.”_ and, under it, “ _I’ll be dropping a present at your ranch, to wish you a happy birthday face to face. See you soon -Natasha.”_

His heart missed a beat. The postcard were okay, unexpected because they never arrived on the same day but still he had waited for this one, guessing that it would become a habit of them to send one for each months. But he felt the visit a bit precipitated ; and at the same time, he realized, a full year had passed since he last saw them, and his birthday must be an opportunity for her, at least, to see him. He didn’t felt ready to see them again.

He put the postcard next to the other. They looked nice packed together on the fridge, a little window outside the confined world of his ranch and the closest village. He did not linger on it, however. He had chosen this life, and he was all well and happy to interact solely with his animals and, when the occasion came, with the inhabitants. He felt the better than he ever did.

* * *

The 10th of March, he wake up with some sort anticipation, a little panic lodged in his heart wich made it heavy. He wondered how the day would go, when will she arrive and what would she be expecting.

He went on his usual routine, guessing that he just had to be careful of any sounds from the doorbell. He couldn’t stay in the house all day, however, and around nine in the morning he was already near the horses to check on them. Particularly one of them, the smallest, the one with a soft brown fur and a white neck. They were pregnant since eight months, and would normally give birth in three months. The vet said the offspring would be healthy, but the birth might be difficult because of the short height of the horse. Thus he felt, everytime the animal entered his viewfield, a mix of excitement at the idea of a new member of the family and tiring concern at the idea of a complication.

The man approached the fence. The horse came slowly, with a short neigh to greet him. He put his hand on the nose of the animal. The horse’s head was warm under his palm. Its breathing was regular and calming, the only sound in the vast field, besides the rustles of the leaves in the wind.

-So, how are you going today, he murmured, while inspecting them. They seemed tired, and the body a bit disproportionate, but they looked just fine. No apparent wounds, no leg they seemed to avoid using, and they didn’t feared his touch.

The corner of his eyes suddenly caught a figure.

-Hi, Bucky, she said.

After one year, he had completely forgotten her face ; but still he remembered her bright orange hair.

-What’s their name ? She asked, pointing the horse. Bucky followed her movement and looked back into the animal’s soft eyes.

-It’s Marzia.

-It’s a nice name, she commented. Where does it come from ?

-A book a friend of mine lent me. From the village, he explained, pointing the direction of the said village.

The woman shook her head. Bucky guessed that she might be happy to hear he met people. He remembered the day they accompanied him there, after he had chosen to live here instead of vainly trying to recover memories. It was a nice day, and they talked little ; thus he remembered their questions and advices, which all made sure that he would not find himself alone and isolated with the animals. He found the gesture touching.

-Well, happy birthday Bucky, she finally said, and uncrossing her hands from behind her back, walked up to him to hand him a gift covered in blue gift wrap.

-Thank you, he answered warmly. “Let’s go inside, he invited her, turning his back on the horse field. The package wasn’t solid. He wondered what kind of gifts a guy like him could receive.

He opened the door and gallantly let her enter first. Her head turned as she looked around, noticing the various changes made during the year. New colors and forms as he had bought and was offered pillows, little sculptures and paintings, related to the town’s mascot and history.

-It’s nice, she said. He put the gift on the kitchen table.

-Do you want to drink something ? he politely asked her.

-Just water, thank’s, she answered with a smile, still inspecting the place. Bucky felt uneasy, but he could at least keep his hand busy with the glasses.

They sat down around the kitchen table.

He grabbed the blue packet and turned it around. It was soft, and he slipped a finger under the scotch that glued together the whole thing. He tried his best not to completely tear apart the paper, and when finally open, searched for the gift inside and retrieve it.

It was soft to the touch, like short fur. Pushing the wrapping paper aside, he inspected the gift ; it was a nice plaid, grey on white side and white on this other. It was big enough to fit his couch. Bucky passed his fingers through the fur, marvelling at the softness of it.

-Thank you, he simply said ; through the act had much more significance. It was his first birthday gift.

She smiled at him. “We chose it. With Steve. I’ll tell him you liked it.” It was Bucky’s turn to smile. “He really… misses you. He couldn’t come today but maybe he’ll visit you next month,“ she said. Bucky wasn’t sure what to answer. He wasn’t the one being truly missed.

“Well, my door is always open,” he ended up saying. He felt bad about them. He knew that they dearly wanted him to stay in New York to try and get back his memories after the accident, but he knew it was useless. He didn’t lost his memories. He radically replaced the real Bucky. But he couldn’t tell them ; tell them that he was actually their enemy.

Yet, now and then, he could feel some kind of flashbacks illuminates his mind. A particular move and his brain will try to connect it with something, a memory so deeply buried the link between it and the present was too faint for Bucky to truly remember ; but he could feel it, in those moments. The real Bucky’s memories.

“So… What are you doing today ?” Natasha asked. The man shook his thoughts away and checked his watch ; it was close to ten am.

“Well right now I should be working on the fence that broke some days ago, during a storm.”

“I’ll come with you. You can show me your place at the same time.”

* * *

They went out by the same door that got them in. The grass was humid but the weather had cleared. Bucky led the woman through the field, until they reached the far end of it, where a tall forest started behind it. Turning back, they could see the house, far away, which was longer than wide and tall. “This is where the horses live,” simply commented Bucky.

“It’s big,” simply added the woman. “They must be happy.”

“I hope so.”

The fence wasn’t too damaged but it had to be buried into the dirt properly again, and needed some new planks. They could not think of anything more to discuss, and with each others help the fence was back up and strong in just half an hour.

"Great !" exclaimed the woman.

"Thank you for your help."

"What's next ?" she asked. Bucky thought that he had to clean the places, as he liked to do so before lunch, so that the afternoon had more agreeable tasks to offer. But he didn't felt fine asking Natasha to clean the place with him. He wondered a little moment on what task might be nice to do with her, and moreover what tasks could need some help.

“We could ride the horse for a while. I can show you the place and it helps them exercize.”

“I’ll follow you,” she politely answered, and so Bucky walked to the little shed, close to the horse’s enclosure and in which there was nearly everything needed to take are of the animals.

On the wall was hanging two saddles, which they retrieved as well as gloves and harnesses. He lead her towards the animals ; a gentle black canadian pacer and a brown corsican. They were all horses he saved from others shelters who could not take care of them anymore, or famous place which couldn’t afford to keep weaker horses. He showed her how to put everything properly in place before walking everyone towards the gate to leave the place.

Quickly the entire map of the place opened in his mind. He could see each routes and where they were leading, their intersections and their little particularities ; where to avoid going, where to cut the roads to see the better part of the forest. Like this he built a little path which wouldn’t tire the horses and would let Natasha discovers some nice places. Little waterfalls and peculiar rocks which looked like eagles and human faces.

Indeed she seemed pleased to discover his world as she got used to ride a horse, following his tracks and listening to the little stories he had gathered by speaking to the villagers. She asked questions about his habits, if he came here often, trying to get a grasp of his life ; and he answered. It was so against his natural behaviors, the one they taught him, but he made an effort and with the help of her curiosity he let the words flow, and explained what he has been doing all on his own, in this little lost place.

The rain nearly caught them. They could feel on their faces the threat of cold water drops, and as soon as they came back to the ranch they tidied everything up and entered Bucky’s house, looking at the sky to advise on their future tasks. It was now soon noon.

"We could go eat lunch outside, so I can show you the village as well," offered Bucky. He felt gauche -wasn’t this his first time inviting someone to the restaurant ?- but the woman seemed enthusiastic. She shook her head.

"Let's do that. I'd love to meet your friends."

They weren't friends per se, but they knew each other. He had already eaten at the restaurant they would go to, when he was trying to fit in the place. He had talked a little but it had become embarrassing when they asked him about his past when he didn't remember any part of it.

There was a bit of walking to do to arrive to the restaurant, as the village wasn't really made for cars ; but the woman seemed just as happy to be able to take a good look around the nice houses, which were nothing like what could be found in the cities she has to travel in for works. The houses were big and colorful and, with the beginning of spring, some flowers appeared on windows and in garden. Moreover the weather was, if not warm, nice and sunny.

When he entered the place with Natasha, the ambiance was as nice as he remembered it. The walls were made out of warm woods and the whole place was gently lighten by yellowish lamps, and decorated with traditional paintings and old, handmade objects.

"It's really lovely," commented the woman, bending her head a little to the man so as to not need to talk too loud for him to hear her.

The evening went nicely. Bucky tried to asked questions about Natasha's life but, when it was about work it was confidential, and when it was about her colleagues it was embarrassing to not remember any names, and to see her face light down a little when she had to explain who was who. So Natasha made him talk about the horses and the village's history and the books he read, which Bucky answered thoroughly.

“I’m really happy to see you doing so well,” she said with a smile. But she seemed somewhat troubled. “Steve told me to not talk about anything before the accident but… You know you’re kind of… different now. Compared to before,” she explained ; but she seems to regret her words immediately. “Not in a bad way ! And not to say that you’re better now than you used to be, it’s just-” but she couldn’t find the words.

It was a real mess now, wasn’t it ? Of course he was different now ; the only thing he shared with the Bucky they knew is the body and some simple behaviors, printed in his genes. They were as close as two twin brothers, seperated the day they were born.

“I’m trying my best,” he started, “to make the... best out of this.” It was true. From the point of view of Natasha, he was an ex-soldier trying to built a more peaceful life with what his memory loss offered him. From his point of view, he had now the full capacity to use the body as he wished to act on the outside world ; and escape not only the cell of Hydra and their total control over him, but also escape the cell of Bucky’s mind, who had successfully trapped him in the back of his mind -until the accident mysteriously changed their place.

She only shook her head, seemingly understanding.

 

Natasha left at five pm, to catch a plane at nine, categorically refusing that he drive her to the aeroport. “You have better thing to do than to drive me around,” she explained, before getting into the bus that will take her to the nearest agglomeration, where she would be able to find a taxi. “You might have a visit from Steve next month. He’s very eager to see you again but he doesn’t really know… how. Well. I’ll surely come with him to. We’ll tell you in advance anyway,” she flashed him a last smile before entering the bus.

Bucky walked back to his home, reuniting with silence again.

* * *

_He knew that place. He knew the feeling_ _of the metal’s c_ _old bite_ _against his skin. He knew the sound of the low buzzing of the machines, the one that recorded any and every movements of his brain. The_ _one that knew him better than he knew himself. And they knew he didn’t want to be here. He looked around. The walls were naked, except for one : a door. He walked to it prestly tried turning the knob but it wouldn’t open. He was trapped here. Again. The door wouldn’t open, nevermind the force in his arms as he pushed against it ; he couldn’t get out, he was trapped, trapped, trapped-_

He woke up eyes wide open, body painful and mind restless. The clock showed 6:46 in the darkness, as if floating in obscurity. As if he was still in his nightmare. His fingers quickly found the light switch, and the light floored his eyes as if he didn’t saw it for a hundred years.

He needed a shower.

The nightmare lingered in his mind all day, leaving a bad feeling in his heart. But checking his mailbox, his mood lifted a little as he received the fourth postcard on April the 14th, with the little message “ _Natasha and I will arrive on the 23th. See you soon.”_ Bucky smiled to himself. He was enthusiastic at the idea of seeing Steve. He seemed like a really kind person, at the time he met him at the hospital. Even though it had surely been rough for him to see his friend lose every souvenirs of them, he had still been very patient and took time to remind him of the identity of every person who came to visit him, even if they had already introduced themselves the day before. Thinking about it now, Bucky started to regret not contacting him earlier. Or maybe even not revealing himself. To make them focus on the real issue ; trying to revive not just the memories, but the real Bucky too.

He sighed and put the card on the fridge.

They both arrived on said date at ten am. Fortunately the weather was way clearer than last time, a bright yellow sun warming the greening land and the ocher roofs. Natasha walked to him and hugged him immediately. Steve was staying behind, still not sure how to act with someone he knew so much about, but who didn’t know anything about him anymore.

They ended up simply shaking hands.

“It’s nice to see doing well,” said the blond.

“I do my best.”

“So… You take care of horses ?”

“Yes they’re- they’re just behind the house. I was going to feed them so…”

Natasha finished : “We’re following you.”

The light made the land shine, and all the horses were outside, either laying on the heavy grass or gently walking around. Bucky walked straight up to his shed where was stored all the materials needed to take care of the animals. Diverses tools were questionably organized on the walls and in boxes but, he could find his way into this and it was all it needed to be. There was three boxes of hay, which was enough for today. With the spring now fully installed, the grass will suffice for the animals.

Behind him were waiting both Steve and Natasha, who followed his move, imitating him without waiting any instructions. It wasn’t too difficult either, and in a handful of minutes the horses were fed, for the last time this season as spring had revived the grass which they would fed on for the next months.

Just as he had shown the place to Natasha, he showed the place to Steve, pointing towards the various location that surrounded the ranch. Mountains, lakes, far away villages, the cliff. They ended sitting on the grass a little further from the ranch.

The trio spent the rest of the afternoon mindlessly talking. The air was nice and started to fill with all the scents of spring ; pollen floated in the air, birds searched the ground and picked fallen leaves to bring back to their home.

The conversation was superficial, but Bucky started to remember the name of his friends’ colleagues and could follow the story they were telling him. He often felt Steve’s gaze on him. He knew by instinct that he was a sharp man, and Bucky wondered if the man didn’t already realized that he was keeping a secret from them. He more than probably did.

At the end of the afternoon they left him after a heartwarming goodbye, wishing him and his horses good health, as well as asking him to invite them as quickly as possible when the foal would be born. He promised it and wave at them until the taxi they took left his view.

* * *

_The room again. This time, he ran at the door immediately -but it was locked still. He had to find another way. He walked around but the simple view of the equipment sent shivers down his spine. He changed, he did changed, surrounded by all of those who, mistaking him for their Bucky, taught him patience and kindness ; but here in this room everything he ever was hit him across the face as well as a hand could do. The violence not only he committed but which was done to him, engraved in his very mind. The violence that corrupted him. --Suddenly his train of thought was stopped by a sound behind the door. He walked to it again, and heard someone else’s steps coming closer. Then the door knob turned. Then the door open. Then he saw standing in front of him -himself._

_-”You, said the man. He was tensed._

_-Were you there all the time ? He asked._

_-I was watching._

_His hands were clenched into a fist. Though he wouldn’t stand a chance against the soldier that had now taken his place for a year._

_-You must find a way to switch our place”, Bucky told him._

_-I’m not sure how”, he answered -while wondering that, supposing that he would know how to, he wasn’t sure he was ready to give up his place still._

_-It’s not your body, threatened Bucky ; before the dream seemed to blur as if the air became water, until-_

-his eyes opened to reality. His alarm clock started immediately, or maybe it was already ringing and it is what had woken him up ; he extended an arm to turn it off. He was perfectly awake.

 

The nightmare was so vivid. It felt like a real place, a real conversation. It _was_ Bucky. The Bucky who disappeared right after the accident. _Because_ of the accident. He himself did not have any memories of it, as he had gain consciousness only when waking up at the hospital. And nobody had explained it to him yet ; maybe by decency, as it seemed to weight on everybody’s shoulder as if it was everybody’s fault. And surely because he did not ask any questions, focused on pretending to be Bucky and scraping every bits of information to make a plan of what to do next.

But he had quickly realized he didn’t needed to. Days were slowly passing by and all of Bucky’s friends taught him a little bit more about Bucky’s past, taught him a little bit more of how life looked like when your existence wasn’t only justified by the orders you were given -and how well you executed them. And the escape plan had been given to him when they asked him if he wanted to come back on the battlefield, or if he wanted to make a new life. He wanted to make a new life, of course. He had been a soldier long enough.

And today he would finally answer the postcards with one he bought at the village, on which he had asked the two Avengers to come visit him promptly, as the mare would very soon give birth. He sent it with a special stamp which deemed it as urgent ; and four days later he received a positive response.

They would be staying for a week, unless there was an emergency. A week seemed enough for them to be there to witness the first day of the future foal -and indeed, they would be lucky enough to.

The day was June the 17th. The mare had been particularly agitated since an hour, biting the air, lying down to get up immediately. The air was cold, and dark clouds advances in the sky, looming over the ranch. Bucky crossed the fence and came over the horse to gently lead her towards the clean box he had put up for this occasion. He would have prefered letting her outside in the grass, but the weather was too cold and the threat of rain worried him. The mare followed him, until she could lie down under the roof of the box.

The man wondered about calling the vet now. But he knew it would have a price, and it was just the combination of the bad weather and his relative inexperience in the matter which made his overthink. He patted the head of the mare, reassuring her a little as much as he could before walking back to the house to call Natasha and Steve.

He realized the coldness of the outside when the warmth of the house hit his numb face and fingers. The woman was sitting on the couch, a book in her hands which she closed immediately upon seeing him ; and the other was seemingly inspected the binders aligned on a shelf that Bucky had filled with information about the ranch.

“It’s beginning ?” she asked, anticipation in her voice.

“Soon enough”, he answered as he walked to the kitchen. He heard them walking behind him, fetching shoes and a coat as he did the same with clean towels.

“The weather is awful,” Steve commented, looking by the window. “I hope it’s not going to get worse.”

“Me too.”

 

The clouds had come. They were covering the sky and spilling rain, heavy, on the ranch. The sound of it hitting the roof of the box was deafening. The trio was watching over the mare for half an hour now. It seemed to struggle, but the man knew that intervening could lead to other complications. He also knew that birth could take time, that they could only wait, and he found himself having to reassure the other woman who was as much, if not more, worried as him.

He could not reassure her with words however, as the rain filled the air with its sound and covered every other. He could only stand next to her, an arm around her shoulder, as she pressed against him, shaking from the cold. Minutes passed, the rain not faltering for a moment, and he felt lucky that at least the wind wasn’t blowing it inside the box.

It wasn’t the prettiest thing to look at, aesthetically, but the thought of welcoming a new animal in his home warmed him for the next half an hour during which the mare naturally gave birth.

She stand up, tearing apart in her movement the placenta in which the newborn had grown in and had been protected by all these months. Now free, the animal could fill his lungs for the first time with the cold air of the outside world, discovering the smell of the rain on his very first day.

Now that he was born Bucky felt a heaviness lifted off his shoulders. He still had to take care of it for some years before it would grew stronger, but the hardest part had been done.

“Thank god”, he heard Natasha finally sighs as if she had been holding her breath.

“How are you going to call it ?” asked Steve. Bucky didn’t have much ideas.

“Rain,” he said, shrugging.

“Really can’t be a little more creative ?” she scoffed at him.

“I don’t have more ideas. I can call it June if you don’t like Rain,” he joked back, receiving an ironic punch on the shoulder by the woman.

“I think Rain sounds good,” commented Steve, more serious. “The little black spots on his back do looks like raindrops. And, well… It _is_ raining.”

“Unbelievable,” only muttered Natasha. Her turn to shrug. “Well. Rain, welcome to Earth.”

* * *

Now it was September already. The summer had been long and hot, the cursed weather finally leaving, and Nat and Steve had been taken up by their duties and left him alone.

He spent most of his days watching over the new foal, making sure it was growing properly. It was always on the back of his mind -as well as somebody else.

The nightmares had progressed -but he had come to understand they weren’t really nightmares, or any sort of dreams. Dreams were simple, odd, incoherent creations of his mind which appeared while his memories and feelings of the day were organized, classified, throw into forgiveness or added to his library of souvenirs. What he dreamt about, however -it was entirely different.

The place he dreamt about was real -and the person living in it, to. It was Bucky, the real Bucky, who had been living in the two rooms which composed the place, since he had lost control of the body. Two rooms, but only one the Soldier could access ; it was the room he knew, the one where he had been programmed into Bucky’s mind. The other was at the end of a narrow staircases, but he was unable to climb it.

When he found himself in the room, he could converse with Bucky as if they were in a tangent reality. They first tried to put words on the experience, tried to understand completely the situation. Bucky came to understand that the Soldier hadn’t been and wasn’t just a program, some kind of algorithm, some mindless suite of orders that Hydra had put into his mind when they made him their prisoner ; but a fully-fleshed person, except that everything the Soldier knew was his life as Hydra’s subject. And when the Soldier was in control of the body, as he had been for the past year, Bucky lived in this confined world, cut from the outside, with little knowledge of what was happening _really._

Now being allowed to contact each other during the dreams, they spoke, and sometimes fought, trying to make the other understand their own positions, trying to find a way to put Bucky in control again. But the conversation often went round and round, as the Soldier got more attached to the life he was living, and Bucky pressed him more and more to try ways of switching them. Still they tried to progress, little by little, testing the limits of their situation to figure how to improve it.

Indeed, the next change was beneficial as the Soldier learned to differentiate his own thoughts from Bucky’s thoughts, until he could clearly hear them and eventually interact with them -until they were able to talk outside of the nightmares. And with this ability to exchange came the ability for Bucky to finally see the world through the Soldier’s eyes. Those two capacities combined meant that, now, the Soldier was accompanied all day long by little commentaries over what he should do, how, and ideas to make them switch. There weren’t that many, and most often, they were simple little things he could do in a minute like looking at pictures or listening to songs related to Bucky’s past. Until Bucky pointed towards the cliff.

- _You know I already fell from such a height. Still didn’t killed me,_ he commented. The Soldier was brushing clean one of his horse.

-At what occasion ? he asked, mildly curious.

_-First during this mission in Germany to stop Hydra. I fell from the train at the moment it was running on a bridge._

It clicked easily in the Soldier's mind.

 _-_ And that's when they made you a test subject, to create me.

 _-Yup_.

The Soldier thought for a little moment.

-Well, you fell two times from such a height. Or your body did.

- _Mh ?_

He calculated his words and explained, "Well there was that time I fought Steve for Hydra, in a Helicarrier. The window under him ended shattering and he fell. But I had- I had beaten him almost unconscious and I thought… that if he fell into the water he wouldn't be able to swim back up properly. So I jumped too. Second fall.

Bucky stayed silent a moment.

- _You saved his life._

The Soldier shook his head.

_-Why ? You had to kill him right ? He would have probably died and it would have been a success for you._

-At that moment, not anymore," he simply answered. "You see, Steve could have killed me then, too. I was impeding his own mission, just like he was impeding mine. But he didn't. He fought me, and tried to stop me, but he never killed me -only because he believed I was still his old friend. And he said," he made a pause to remember the words correctly, "I'll be with you till the end of the line. I suppose this is something he used to say to you ; but at that moment I understood that, there could be something else for me. Something different than obeying orders at any costs."

He didn't have any more words. He had thoughts, however, as telling this story reminded him of what had followed.

It had been hard to discover the outside world ; but he had been programmed to adapt to those of situations, too. So he went around, got clothes, and thought  that he could not go back to Hydra after letting Captain America alive. Or he thought that he just needed to wait to find a good plan to make it back to them without being noticed. Or he thought that the outside world was… nice.

And searching around ultimately lead him to the museum ; a museum where he found a detailed description of Captain America's life, and thus, in a corner, a description of "his" life -and "his” disappearance. It wasn't difficult to finally piece things together. And then many things happened and his own memories has trouble with it, as his mind seemed to have tangled with the real Bucky and his memories had been played with by Hydra. Until he had finally been removed, or put away, from Bucky's mind, in Wakanda.

And then… The accident. He didn’t remember much, really. He felt as if he had some memories of it ; he could project himself falling, fire trying to eat his skin, but he was only seeing himself from outside, his imagination filling the gigantic gaps in the picture, and it wasn’t inconceivable to think that his imagination just created the whole thing from the little descriptions he gathered from the few witnesses. All he knew is that it had sufficed to put him back in front -or sufficed to put Bucky back behind.

What a journey it had been, to finally found himself here. He couldn’t help but feel however, that he had only weeks left.

* * *

Steve had come alone this time, right in the middle of September. He had send a postcard one week prior, another generic one, on which he had written a little sentence as a warning -but no message from Natasha.

The weather had cleared and yet now the man seemed preoccupied ; so preoccupied in fact that it only took him a few minutes to give the reason why, just after the Soldier asked him if something was wrong.

“You’re not Bucky,” stated Steve, looking at him in the eyes. Ah. Well, he was a man you could not fool for long.

“... I am not,” he confirmed. Of course he would end up noticing at some point.

“This is the Winter Soldier again.”

“Yes.”

“Since the accident I suppose.”

“Yes”.

“And Bucky… is he there ?"

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Right now… yes.” Steve’s eyes open wide, before turning somber and troubled. He took a breath-

“I’m sorry for the accident,” he said with a low voice.

“ _Yeah, you already told me. Tell him I don’t care,_ ” but before the Soldier could pronounce a word “ _-tell him I don’t mind. Tell him it’s okay.”_

“He… says it’s okay.” Steve had a half-hearted smile. He was the sort of man who bear guilt on his own, and could only heal from it by his own accords. But his face turned cold again rapidly.

“I knew you were acting weird since I saw you at the hospital. The memory loss’ excuse must have been very convenient.” The Soldier could sense the slight anger that had appeared in the man’s voice. In his point of view, the Soldier must have been lying to them all this time. Waiting for the right time to… to… do something. Fooling them, taking the place of his best friend and taking advantage of their kindness.

“Why did you kept pretending ?” asked Steve, with words that truly felt like a hit. The Soldier answered as calmly as he could-

“I’m not pretending. I _am_ Bucky. I am who he would be if he had no memories, except for the one Hydra gave him.”

“Don’t play with words,” Steve threatened, bitter. “Why are you still here ?”

With the same bitterness in his voice, the Soldier answered :

“Why would I want to be anywhere else ?”

They looked at each other in the eyes, as if they could judge the other’s intentions, observe and analyze them in the black of their pupils.

“You must find a way to switch places with Bucky,” asserted the man.

The Soldier did not answer.

“ _Tell him we’ll find a way.”_

The Soldier stayed silent.

* * *

Bucky had access to his vision and to his senses ; but thankfully, not his thoughts. Because his thoughts were troubled.

He did not wanted to give up on his life. He had worked for it, yes, but more importantly he… enjoyed it. He grew attached to the people and the animals and the routine. He could understand that this wasn't his body, and that there was a man here who, too, wanted to enjoy life. And because it was _his_ body it was more legitimate to find a way to give it back to him.

But still.

He couldn't resolved himself to that fate. Losing control over the body ; how would he end up being like ? It would be death, wouldn't it. Some kind of death, where he would only live through the senses of someone else -and only when they would be in a state that would allow them to do so. It was too cruel.

He thought more about his life and anger started itching at his fingers. He would be removed from the outside world. Removed from his house and removed from his horses ; and removed from the small link he had started with Natasha. He did not particularly thought of her as more than friends -but it was a start. A start that would be ruined by going back, by being locked in those rooms in their mind.

...But if he kept the body, what kind of life would he lead, to lie and pretend or hide and hear everyday the voice of the man from who he stole the most precious thing. How many months, or years, could he spent living as a fugitive again.

Ah. No anger anymore ; just sadness.

He would have been a Soldier all his life.

* * *

The weather had turned bad again. The wind was pushing from behind, and the high grass hit his legs.

“ _Seems like the wind is pushing us_ ,” said Bucky’s voice -it was now clear among his thoughts. Indeed the wind was strong and he did not make the necessary steps to perfectly stand at the edge of the fall, worried to be pushed over.

 _“It won’t kill us_ ,” affirmed Bucky. It was one of those commentaries which made the Soldier understood why Steve uncovered him so quickly. He didn’t possessed the resolute recklessness his old friend possessed. His own training had made him precised, calm, sure.

“ _And if you don’t fuck up we might not even get hurt_ ,” he added.

“We might not even switch place,” only noted the Soldier. Bucky did not answer.

He made the last steps and the cold, grey sea extended in front of his eyes. Under him, the water was clear ; there was no rock on which his body could break. Only water to welcome him. Cold water, like the snow which cushioned Bucky when he fell.

“ _Come on. Let’s get over with it_ ,” he pressed. It was easy for him to say ; he was only a spectator and the cold bite of the water will be a gift for him, if it does give him back the full control of his body.

But in the end, it was also easy for the Winter Soldier to simply obey.

The wind filled his mind as he fell.

 

_He was falling -but in the corner of his eyes the white light of the snow blinded him._

_He was falling -but he knew why, knew where to land, knew what to do._

_He was falling -but the heat of the air burned his skin and melted his flesh._

He was falling -until he wasn’t.

Water surrounded him. Weighing him down. Pushing him deeper as if frozen hands were clinging on his body to pull him into obscurity.

He started to swim upwards as he felt his lungs dangerously close to emptying. Waves were pushing him around, trying to drown him -but he swam.

He swam until he finally reached the shore and breathed the cold air, no matter that it burned his throat, and crawled out of the water, digging the wet sand with his hands, coughing the salt out of his lungs, breathing life back into his body. His mind was running wild. His body, his body, finally-!

Bucky was himself, wholly, completely. He could not even believed it really worked, an idea so crazy ; and yet there couldn't be any more proofs of the control he had back again than the feeling of swimming against the current, digging the sand with his hands, and turning his face around to look at the world as he wanted to.

The world. The entire world. And not just the room he was locked up in, which was a poor and sickening replicate of Steve’s old apartment in Brooklyn. The real world.

 

He stepped into the house with a sign of relief. His shivering skin immediately started warming up.

But it was a weird feeling to finally enter this house by himself. He felt a vague feeling of misplacement. Of imposture. It wasn't his house and yet he knew it perfectly. He could move around with ease and change in dry clothes swiftly. And he had already noticed, in the middle of this neutral design, the little signs of the Soldier's personality. Books in the library about World War II, the Avengers, the Soviet union. On the couch, the large grey plaid which Natasha and Steve offered him for his birthday -Bucky's birthday. While they thought he was still… Bucky.

It was soft under the touch but it made his heart heavy. It belonged to the Soldier but he wouldn't be able to interact with it anymore. Worst, he realized his mind was silent ; he still didn't have any reactions from the Soldier. He thought that at least he would have been in his place ; that even though Bucky took full control again, the Soldier would be able to communicate with him as they have been able to those last months. Not yet, it seems. Or maybe, he chooses not to. It gave Bucky small shivers.

He looked for the phone, and found it sitting on a wooden desk. Next to it, a yellow post-it with a few important numbers swiftly written in blue ink ; at the bottom, Natasha's and Steve's phone number.

He composed Steve's in a hurry. The phone rang thrice.

-"Bucky ?

-...It's me."

 

The landscape changed ; but he could still recognize it. The Soldier was back in the room.

So... it worked. Jumping off that cliff worked. Bucky must be enjoying his new freedom right now, testing the control he gained back, living in the real world- while he was back here. In the room where he was created -well, a recreation of the room he was created. He had already spent enough time in this cold room.

He walked immediately towards the door, the one he could not open by himself and even less climbed the stairs. It was hard metal, and the handle was cold in his hand. He shivered ; this fake world seemed so real.

The handle turned in his hand. But this time, he heard a sound ; a little click, and when he pushed, the door open. Without Bucky in the way, he could see the long, dark stairways which lead him higher. He climbed the first steps.

Obscurity quickly surrounded him and he kept a hand on the smooth wall to guide himself. His steps were nearly silent. The steps kept going and going, as if he was travelling from the pit of hell to a higher place. At the end, a door. This one could be opened too.

Soft light warmed his face. Looking around, he was hit by the contrast. It was an appartement, bathed in a soft, welcoming yellowy light. He approached the window but upon touching it, he understood that it was like hard concrete. It made him feel uneasy, but he kept looking around, trying to understand more about the phenomenon. He wondered why that place was Bucky's place.

He found the photographies quickly, disposed on a low shelf. They were sepia coloured and the Soldier recognized Steve and Bucky's young faces without trouble. Ah, so this had been one of their apartments. It was sentimental. A bitter feeling caught his heart. His own place was the opposite of this. He was about the ranch, and brutally put down the photographies.

He sighed and kept exploring. It was bigger than his room, but it wasn't big either. There was a kitchen, a living room and a bedroom, seemingly recreated by Bucky's memories. It was nice, for sure.

But he wouldn’t spend too much time there.

If there was a way for Bucky to switch back into his body, then there was a way to put The Soldier there too. After all, it’s what Hydra did. They created him, and found a switch. And that switch, it was buried deep into his own memories -memories which created _his_ room.

He descended the stairs. It really felt like going underground, beneath the earth, where insects and corpses lived. But there was no earth here. In this room, there was only machines and cold, metallic furnitures. And somewhere in there, the switch.

He looked around. He didn’t like to. It was a visual representation of his memories, but not the good one that he made after the accident. The screens were mainly black except for three of them who sometimes presented mindless static. He tried looking at them carefully but it was truly mindless.

On the table, nothing too amazing either. Instruments for surgery and medicine and torture. His body tensed, but as he looked away his eyes caught a little object ; one that seemed totally insignificant between every others. And yet it was because it was among the others that it stood out. A little notebook.

The first page was blank. The Soldier grabbed it and turned the pages. At first, they were blank, and then- and then. The words started to appear. They were written in dripping black ink, alone on a page ; and he could hear them. Hear the voice. The way they should be pronounced. The order. The way that they felt. What they meant.

He tore the pages he needed. There were ten, just like he remembered. His heartbeat was wild as the realization hit him.

Now he just needed to wait for the right time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi !  
> This is the first time I finish a story. I hope the end still sounds good even though I never practised writing one before.  
> I love The Winter Soldier as a separate entity and I hope I will get more opportunities to write about him in the future. For reference, I am imitating/making reference to the real disorder called DID for Dissociative Identity Disorder, but I higly twisted it to fit the story. I invite you to type it into google to find more about the experiences of people who lives with it.  
> Thank you for passing by !


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